


Panic In the Streets of London

by beetle



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M, Post-Chosen, post-nfa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 14:24:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/pseuds/beetle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Savoytruffle asked for Spander, containing lyrics from Panic, by The Smiths. Four hundred words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Panic In the Streets of London

**Author's Note:**

> Notes/Spoilers/Warnings: AU.

The  _real_  apocalypse comes . . . and there’s no champion to avert it.  
  
The air above the East End and most of London is a long, smoky scream of pain and despair. When the fires start, they burn for days--then for weeks as the firefighters disappear, lost to the illusory safety of the countryside, or to the things that now haunt London's streets with impunity.  
  
It isn’t safe to travel in the daytime.   
  
At night, the only things that travel are, well . . .  _things_.  
  
Two of these  _things_  are currently strolling down Whitechapel Road, hand-in-hand. They pause momentarily to watch a battered ambulance speed by. It only barely avoids collision with an overturned  _Audi_ , before swinging down Castle Street.  
  
They grin at each other. It’s the first ambulance either have seen in over week. They have no doubts that the driver isn’t human.  
  
“Bloody hell, love. ‘S like livin’ in Hazzard County.” Thing One laughs, sliding a possessive arm around Thing Two’s waist. “I expect Boss Hogg’ll be along any moment . . . this is the best apocalypse ever.”  
  
Thing Two pouts as the sky above them opens up, drizzling cold, sooty water down on their heads. “I was raised on apocalypses and this, sir, is  _no_  apocalypse.“  
  
“Pet, even armageddon takes some time to get goin’, yeah?” Thing One says huffily. “Can’t have burning hail and a rain of blood right outta the soddin’ gate.”  
  
“Mmm . . . rain of blood.” Thing Two sighs wistfully, licking it’s fangs. Thing One snorts and angles its platinum head, kissing Thing Two lovingly. By the time they come up for air they don’t need, the rain has turned sheeting, drenching them both in seconds.  
  
“Don’t need all that poncy, mystical bugaboo, anyway,” Thing One announces. “Got somethin’ even better, don’t we?”  
  
“And what’s that?”  
  
Thing One smiles, swaying them both. “Got panic on the streets of London, pet. Panic on the streets of Birmingham. . . .” it sings softly.  
  
Thing Two blinks blankly--but adorably--and Thing One rolls its yellow eyes. “Never mind, love, just . . . give us another kiss.”  
  
Thing Two obliges immediately, hungrily. Groping their way down the dead, rubble-strewn road, the pair finally trip over a fresh corpse left in front of the Whitechapel tube-stop.   
  
They fall to the ground in a tangle of snarls and limbs.  
  
Neither of them notice when the cold, grey rain turns warm . . . turns crimson.


End file.
